


John's Use of Language

by Dlvvanzor, Living_In_a_Fantasy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_In_a_Fantasy/pseuds/Living_In_a_Fantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock figured he was now obligated to have pretend sulks more often- he'd been with John for two years and he'd had no idea how filthy the man could talk when he wanted his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John's Use of Language

Sherlock was huffy and cranky.  John had giggled at his crankiness and that had made Sherlock more huffy and cranky.  Now he was huffily doing an experiment that was only slightly important and crankily ignoring John.  Was he angry?  No.  But he _was_ in the mood to have a sulk and John was going to have to deal with it because, he had been told, that's what you did when you loved someone.

John, however, could only find Sherlock's sulking amusing.  He knew that probably a bit Not Good, but Sherlock was sulky so often for _real_ that watching him fake it was pretty much hilarious.  This time it was obvious that he was not actually angry with John and nothing was going horribly wrong in his head, so he simply watched Sherlock from across the room, smiling at him.

Sherlock glanced at him, saw him watching and smiling, and turned back to his experiment.  He huffed.

John's smile widened. "You're cute when you're focused."

Sherlock ignored him.

"Just proving my point," he said cheerfully.

Sherlock huffed again.

John stood and slowly made his way towards Sherlock.

Sherlock shuffled away a bit.

John moved closer.

Sherlock shuffled further, so that his arms had to be stretched all the way out to continue his work.

"You know," John said, next to him now, "I can think of a couple ways to cheer you up."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and made the huffing noise again.  He rearranged some beakers.

"It's never failed to make you happy before."

"A case?" Sherlock asked facetiously.

"Not a case."

"Strawberries?"

"Nope."

"A well-written book?"

"Not quite."  He leaned a bit closer.

"Violin?"

He leaned closer. "No."

"Bees?"

"I was thinking something more involving you and me," John suggested.

"Doctor Who?" Sherlock drawled.

John seemed to consider this. "Well, closer. The sofa tends to lead to it a lot."

Snootily, Sherlock replied, "Sleep?"

"I was thinking something more along the lines of kissing every inch of your body."

Sherlock coughed loudly.

"I could take you to the sofa," John said, voice lowering, "and snog you until we're too worked up to even make it out of our clothes."

Sherlock ignored this.  With great effort.

"Or," the doctor said said slowly, shifting a bit closer, "if you're not up for actively participating, I could just peel off your clothes, layer by layer, and suck you off, nice and slow. Right here, even, if you don't want to move."

He was cranky.  _Cranky_ , dammit.

"No?"  John considered this. "If you wanted us both to get off, I could take you, right here. Bend you over this table and have you. How does that sound?"

Sherlock tried extremely hard to think of annoying things about John, things he hated about him.  Things he hated about John.  ...He couldn't think of any.

"Think about it," John said, voice low. "My cock filling you, right here. Right now." His hand slipped a bit closer. "Or you could have me on the table. Spread me open and work off that frustration."

Oh god.  Sherlock would have to do this fake sulk thing more often.  He'd been with this man for two years and he'd had absolutely no idea that he could talk like this.

John's finger brushed Sherlock's skin with the faintest touch. "Does that sound better? You maneuvering my body as you please, thrusting into me, making me come undone?"

Sherlock shuddered involuntarily.  Huh, he couldn't really swallow.

"Mrs. Hudson is gone for the weekend, you know," John continued. "I'd have no reason to hold anything back. Your cock inside me is one of the greatest feelings I can think of-- I want you to hear just how _much_ I love it."

Sherlock also found it interesting to discover after two years that John was _evil._ And correct, because Mrs. Hudson _was_ gone, and John was always loud when she was gone, and Sherlock loved it when John was loud.  Which John knew, the bastard.

"God, the things you do to me," John said, voice husky. "I want you to make me scream, Sherlock. I want you to make me beg for it."

"T-the things I do to _you_?" Sherlock choked.

"Isn't it obvious?" John asked, fingers tracing idle patterns on Sherlock's arm. "Just catching you in the right light can start to get me hard. But to feel your hands, and your lips, and your cock." He broke off to give a low moan.

"Light causes... things to.  Look... like things."

"I want you to fuck me," he breathed against Sherlock's ear, ignoring that. "God, Sherlock. I don't think you know how much I need you."

"Need is fucking," Sherlock explained.

"I need you inside me." His hand tugged at Sherlock's arm, very lightly. "I've needed it all day. I need to feel your hands as you tear off my clothes, your lips on my neck..."

Sherlock was in serious danger of escaping his pants, here.  He dropped his head, closing his eyes to try to get some control.  He wouldn't give in to this.  Sherlock recognized a challenge when he saw one, and he was going to get hold of himself and...

"I don't think you understand how much I ache for you." John pressed closer. "Even if you don't want to fuck me, just touch me. Or let me touch you. You know how much I enjoy your cock."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked faintly.  Control. 

John's lips brushed Sherlock's neck. "So much. In my hand, my mouth, in _me_. Let me see it, please? I promise to make you come. I always do."

Sherlock gasped, his mouth fell open, and then he turned bright red.

John's eyes flickered across Sherlock's face, a smirk making its way onto his lips. "Alright, love?" he asked innocently.

He nodded, blush not going away.

"You look a bit flustered."

"I, um."  He cleared his throat.

"Hm?"

He looked at the ceiling, which was _really_ interesting today.  "Fine."

"Might need to get the thermometer, you look like you have a fever."

"No, I just."  He kept up his investigation of the ceiling.  "I came in my pants." 

John's smirk widened. "I told you I always make you come.  Feel any better, then?  Not so cranky?"

Sherlock nodded silently.

John smiled and pecked his lips. "Good."

Sherlock, stunned and blissed out, gazed at John's back as the other man strutted away.


End file.
